


all we have is our own private terror

by derogatory



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: "Say it," Ryo orders, heart a tangled mess of knots and desire.Momo wets his lips and flinches. The spot where Ryo bit him is angry and raw; a purpling bruise is growing against its pretty pink hues."No," he snarls.





	all we have is our own private terror

**Author's Note:**

> written for @rutilus_ on twitter

By the time Momo realizes what's happening, it's too late.

Ryo rests his chin in his palm, leaning his elbow against the table. The noise from the street is soft and muted. The lighting for their dinner is low and intimate. Momo's muscles relax as his eyes become clouded. With a concerted effort, he looks at the glass in his hand. 

Watching Momo slowly figure out what's happening is like watching a child say his first words, Ryo thinks. No, that's not right for someone like Momo; it gives him too much agency. Rather... It's like watching a dog learn a trick. 

His heart races. Momo is a dog trapped at the end of his leash.

"What...?" Momo's face is drawn: with concentration, and something different. Something new. 

Ryo tilts his head to the side, taking it in. He hasn't seen this face before. It's not what Momo presents to the public, not the paltry scraps of honesty he tosses to his fickle fans, sporadically tuning in to Re:vale's television appearances. This is a different look, one wholly new and for Ryo alone. 

Unhappy lines crease the corners of Momo's mouth. Ryo wants to press his lips there, drink up that fussy expression. Lock it away for only him to enjoy.

Momo continues staring at him, hurt and betrayal etched across his marble features.

"You're surprised?" Ryo asks, placing a hand at the center of his chest, a feigned gesture of shock. "You didn't think I was above this sort of thing, did you?" He slinks around the table towards Momo. He's like a lion in the tall grass and Momo, a helpless little rabbit. He wants to snap his teeth into his neck, feel the frail, despairing sounds that rush under them.

Ryo comes to a stop, pushing Momo's chair away from the table and regarding him coolly. "You know how far I'll go to get what I want."

"You—" Momo's too weak to hold his glass any longer, and it slips free. It bounces off his knee, spilling over the front of his pants before crashing to the ground.

"Ah," Ryo makes a soft tutting noise. "Look how clumsy you are!" He drops his hand from loosening his tie and drags his fingers through the damp spot on the front of his pants. "We'll have to get you out of these wet clothes."

He kneels between Momo's legs, letting his hands slide up the tight fabric covering his thighs. Up and up...

"Ryo-san," Momo says, more insistent. Ryo lets the effect of his name on Momo's lips rush into him. The sensation sinks into him, muscle deep. He wants to live in this moment, in the hushed and frantic urgency of his request, of the hands on him. He keeps his eyes low, between Momo's legs. He's been waiting for this moment; he wants to enjoy it as long as he can. 

"No, no, don't trouble yourself," Ryo smiles, and unbuckles Momo's belt, pulling it free from the loops along his waistband. "I can do this for you." He lets the belt drop, and the sound of its metal buckle is cavernously loud as it hits the hardwood floor. "Because we're such good friends."

When he starts to unbutton the front of his pants urgent fingers claw at his arms, trying to push him away.

"Wait," His voice has a frantic edge to it. But he's too weak to close his hands into fists, grappling uselessly at Ryo. 

By this point every muscle in Momo’s body must have loosened, depriving him of any chance of getting away. Tonight, Ryo has taken every precaution. He can't have Momo denying him, not after he's worked so hard to get here. Besides, Momo is too blinded by loyalty to recognize he's being given a gift. The treasure of open acquiescence, of an evening devoid of the difficult choices he must be forced to make every day. In his drugged state, Momo can't duck away from Ryo, can't retreat to the safety of those half-talent savages he thinks are his real friends. They expect too much from Momo, they trick him into doing so much of the heavy lifting.

Ryo reaches up, brushing Momo's bangs off his forehead. The eyes staring back at him are wide and frightened: fearful of the lack of obligations laid out before him.

"No," Ryo says and smiles. "You've kept me waiting long enough." He surges forward, catching Momo's mouth with his, forcing his tongue past the stubborn line of his lips and ravishing in the miserable moan it elicits.

Kissing Momo, Ryo is heady with the possibilities ahead of them. In Momo's state, he can take his time with these intimate moments and draw everything from Momo he's ever wanted. They could hide here for hours, away from the harsh realities of the world, from the expectations of the industry and the demands of superiors. He could hold Momo close and divulge sides of himself he kept locked away. Momo could tell himself things too; things beyond how he got mixed up with Re:vale, more important things. Who Momo is outside of that indie trash, and what he can offer someone as powerful as Ryo. What they can accomplish together.

He takes Momo's lower lip between his teeth and bites.

Or he could just lay Momo out over the table and fuck him senseless.

They could do both! The effects of the drugs won't wear off for hours.

It's really too much fun to have Momo trembling under him, words spilling out of his mouth in a rapid, panicked slur.

"I don't want this," Momo says, twisting his face to the side as Ryo chases him. "No," Momo says, dazed and vulnerable. Ryo is warm all over as his hands roam across Momo, from his chest to his thighs, to the space between his legs that makes Momo jolt. "Ah!"

Ryo's face splits with a grin. 

"I think you do want this," Ryo says, leaning in to kiss the soft skin of his neck as he palms him through his pants. "You've always wanted me to do this." 

That's why Momo keeps taking meetings with him, why Momo would allow himself to be alone with someone with no morals, with no qualms against using violence and deception to get what he wants. Momo is simple, but he's not stupid. He wanted to be here tonight, he wanted to take long, greedy gulps from the spiked glass and now, to pretend Ryo's touches are unwanted. It's a fun game they can play, a cute act, but Ryo would much rather hear the truth. Wring it out of Momo as he plunges his hands down the front of his pants.

"No..." Overwhelmed, Momo tips his head back, face pointed to the ceiling. Away from Ryo. 

That won't do; His free hand snakes up, digging his fingers into Momo's cheeks, into the meat of his face. He roughly angles Momo's gaze back to his.

"'No?'" Ryo whispers, too flush with arousal to keep the taunt out of his voice. "You're not happy?" Momo squirms under him, weak-limbed in its struggle. His breathing is irregular, heartbeat fluttering under his skin, lips shaking. Ryo takes in the sight of it, the feel of an unwilling body under his. 

"Oh well." He lets go of Momo completely and the other man sags with the effort to hold himself up, falling against the back of the chair. "I suppose I'm happy enough for both of us."

In a fluid motion, he pulls Momo's pants down his thighs, reverently easing his dick free. It's warm and heavy in his hands, a dream in his fist; pink and half hard with just a few pumps. Ryo rearranges themselves, half sitting in his lap as Momo kicks fruitlessly, movements sluggish. He can pin Momo into place with the slightest touch, with the easiest distribution of weight. Momo is frail and helpless, delicate like a doll. He couldn't push Ryo off if he wanted to. Which, of course, Ryo knows he doesn't.

"Stop," Momo says, a muscle in his jaw beating wild with his pulse.

"You want me to go slower?" Ryo asks innocently.

"No," Momo snaps and twists his hips, a sudden burst of energy. He's not strong enough to pry away, but it throws Ryo off his rhythm. Draws his attention away from the mouth-watering sight of a bead of precome at the slit of his cock. 

Lifting his gaze, he sees Momo glaring back at him.

"Faster?" Ryo asks, teasing in more ways than one. 

" _Stop it._ "

Ryo swipes his thumb over this head of his cock and delights in the shudder of pleasure that lances through Momo. He can put on a show of resistance as much as he likes, but there's no denying Momo's desire. 

After all, Momo chose to come here of his own volition; he knowingly associates with someone like Ryo, a person he knows is bad. This whole facade of conflict and denial— he's not fooling Ryo. Momo is as hungry for it as he is. He knows that for a fact, feels it in the slickness against his palm, in that pathetic whimpering.

"But, but, but," Ryo smiles unkindly. "It doesn't seem like you want me to stop," he muses, watching Momo's hips feebly arch after each stroke. His angry expression takes a twinge of guilt, of shame, and it makes the front of Ryo's slacks unbearably tight.

"Let go," Momo hisses, bordering on a stutter as he struggles to speak. If Ryo closes his eyes he can almost imagine the waver in his voice isn't from the drug, imagine that Momo is only intoxicated from being close to Ryo. He's already drunk with it, the opportunity of Momo laid out in front of him, begging to be touched.

Momo's tongue is loose and yielding, so Ryo moves closer, takes that tongue into his own mouth. The sound of their tongues slipping over one another is so obscene and Ryo angles his crotch against Momo's hipbone. Let Momo feel how hard he is too. Let Momo see where they are careening too.

Momo tries to wrench his face away, so Ryo bites again, this time hard enough to draw blood. All this fighting will get him nowhere, and honestly? It's a bit distracting.

Ryo slides his free hand along Momo's jaw, a strong feature — important for an idol! — that fits easily into the palm of his hand. Momo is so alive, both here and also down below, both parts aching in his grip. Ryo lingers happily in that moment. If he steadies his hand between his legs, he can feel Momo weakly fuck into his fist. If he tightens his fingers along his jaw, Momo opens his mouth easier, lets Ryo enjoy mapping his mouth with his tongue. He lets Ryo chart each individual ridge of his teeth, the soft corners of his irritable lips, begging to be kissed. With every movement Ryo can see fight eking out of Momo, replaced with a low, honest desire. 

This was such a wonderful idea, joining the idol industry, scoping out the best way to dismantle everything dear to these awful, false people who have a stranglehold on Momo's loyalty. They ask too much of someone as simple as Momo, someone who has no business in the public eye. Momo's raw appeal should only be used for one deserving person, someone who knows best how to pump him dry. Who can bring out his is true nature: one of delicious servitude, brought out when satisfaction is demanded of him.

That's so easy for Ryo to see. He knew it from the moment he laid eyes on Momo, playing coy like one of those lifeless dummies in the spotlight. Momo is better suited for a life of subjugation, of being used. How can he make Momo understand that?

Ryo sits back, away from the kissing for now. He keeps his cock in his grip, caressing him slowly, luxuriously. 

"Momo," he says and heaves a fond sigh. Momo pulses in his fingers, straining for contact. "You're so honest down here." Ryo turns his wrist just so and Momo hisses. "Why won't you let me do this for you?"

Momo's thoughts are clearly muddled, muscles devoid of fight, but his stare is hard. Ryo watches it curiously, looking for the shifts in it as he pumps Momo in his hand. The dining room is silent except for the wet noises between them, the hitches of his labored breath. Their dinner is forgotten with the current feast laid out in front of Ryo.

"Admit it," Ryo says, throat tight when Momo gives a particularly lewd moan, bucking helplessly under his ministrations. "You're desperate for this. This is everything you wanted. That's why you came here tonight." Momo groans, a defeated sound. "Look how wet you are! You love it." _You love me_ , Ryo thinks and is breathless with the intensity of that thought.

Huffing for breath, Momo keens after the touch when Ryo pulls his hand away. 

"Say it," Ryo orders, heart a tangled mess of knots and desire.

Momo wets his lips and flinches. The spot where Ryo bit him is angry and raw; a purpling bruise is growing against its pretty pink hues. 

"No," he snarls.

Ryo sits back. Now he's being forced to assess the situation. 

Momo is clearly being difficult. It won't be any fun if they spend the whole time arguing. Admittedly, Momo on the defense is cute — until this evening Ryo would've said there was no feeling greater than having Momo backed into a corner. Chasing him into a desperate spot, watching the shroud of distress descend over his adorable features.

But now the idea of Momo wet and begging for it sounds so much better than fighting. 

All this would be easier if Momo didn’t spend so much of his time with kids. He's forgotten how much adults value consistency. Children can be fickle, unpredictable. They don't know the difference between lies and truths and they mislead people with their capricious moods. Momo is old enough to know better; he should know a man doesn't look another man in the eye and lie like this. Not when Ryo saw his true feelings, needy and leaking over his hand.

Ryo can already tell how much Momo adores him from the way his body, freed from worry and responsibility, happily rolls against his, pleading to be touched, to be taken. Momo wants to be had. He just needs a little incentive before he'll admit that out loud.

"Well," Ryo says with a shrug. "If you won't admit it, I'll have to show all this to your partner." The words taste like poison on his tongue. Partner. He won't say his name.

Momo freezes. "What?" 

Ryo gestures vaguely around them. "I have cameras in every room of this apartment." In business, lying is as easy as a handshake. "What would your little friends think, what would _he_ think, if they saw you with me, after everything I've done?"

Momo is struck silent. His eyes scan Ryo's face, looking for some hope there. So earnest and simple. Ryo wants to claw all the hope out of Momo with every vein and sinewy muscle, with every stuttering cry in his grip. There's no hope here.

"Promise to be good," Ryo whispers, dipping his head between Momo's legs. "Tell me how much you want this..." The smell of Momo hangs thick in the air as his mouth inches closer. "And I'll keep tonight a secret."

"Secret," Momo repeats vaguely, voice breaking as Ryo closes his mouth around the head of his cock. 

Small, vulnerable noises slip from Momo as Ryo sucks lightly. He flattens his tongue against the tip and Momo gives a short yelp. He moves on instinct, thrusting into Ryo's mouth as he laps him up. The taste of him — sour and rich and pooling in his throat as Ryo tips his head back — is almost too much to bear. He coaches Momo to generously push further into his throat, as far as he can before Ryo pulls away slowly.

His tongue traces up the cock as he moves, feeling Momo shiver under him, tasting his arousal and his fear. As he does it, Ryo can tell he's drooling, can feel Momo’s juices and his own saliva drip down his chin. There's no style in it, but there's no real rush, either.

Soaking in every lewd sound, Ryo wishes he really did have a camera capturing this moment. Maybe he could stop momentarily and set one up. Or maybe he could wait until Momo passes out, then set up some recording equipment and fuck Momo all over again. Screw him until he wakes up, capturing the exact moment Momo realizes how thoroughly Ryo has ruined him, splayed him open and shameless so no one else will ever want him. From this moment on no one else will have Momo; he's Ryo's property until both their bodies rot in the dirt. 

Ryo moans indulgently around Momo's cock, reaching between his legs and rubbing at the bulge in his pants. He can't get ahead of himself too much— there's plenty of time for that later. They have all the time in the world to enjoy each other's company.

"Momo." Ryo lifts his mouth off with a crude pop, a line of moisture momentarily connecting his lips to Momo. "You still need to say it."

His eyes rake up Momo's disheveled body. His head is tipped back again; mouth twisted up in distressed lines, open mouthed panting. His eyes are vacant, looking anywhere but the man in his lap. Ryo resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 _Selfish_ , he thinks. It's enough to make him want to slap that empty look off his face.

Ryo reaches between them and squeezes Momo's dick.

"Say you love it," he hisses as Momo cries out in pain. 

"Ah— I love it," Momo grits, gasping from the stimulation, from the force of the truth, rampaging through him. 

Ryo releases him, feeling a blush stain from his face, down his neck, a full body fever just from hearing those words. He feels like a man dying from thirst being plunged into an endless pool of crisp, cool water. Nourished to every pore, never again hungry from only the weight of that statement.

"Again," he says, white hot.

"I love it," Momo mumbles, wrecked with the implication, with giving himself up to Ryo entirely.

In an instant Ryo's pants are undone, underwear shucked off and discarded. The chair Momo sits in is hard against his knees as Ryo straddles the other man's lap. Pride swells in his chest as Ryo positions himself over him, casting a smug look at Momo beneath him.

Free from the pain, from the pleasure, Momo suddenly looks like he's struggling to stay awake, his eyes sagging half closed. His mouth still hangs open so Ryo shoves two fingers between his bruised lips, plunging them into the slick wetness of his throat.

"Suck," he commands and Momo does with a meek sound of discontent. His tongue slips between Ryo's fingers, unskilled and unsure. Ryo watches him hungrily, shoving Momo's head further back and angling for the far recesses of his throat. Momo gags and coughs and Ryo eases up, apologizing falsely. He knows Momo could take it more. He probably swallows cock nightly from someone else. Anger laces through him at the thought of that other man on top of Momo just like this, riding him, building them both to ecstasy. Momo is an undeserved prize. 

Just thinking about that man is a fist around his heart.

Ryo pulls from his mouth, angling his hand between his bare legs and easing himself open with slickened fingers. Rage and frustration have tensed every muscle, but the thought of Momo's saliva inside him, in that private spot, loosens Ryo swiftly. That person... he's not here now. He's not the one who's enjoying the view of Momo's dick, red and straining to be touched again. Ryo has it, has him, and he has all the time in the world to enjoy it.

Momo might have experience with that person, that tainted idol he thinks he adores. But Ryo will rewrite his marks on Momo. In a minute, he'll make Momo forget all about Re:vale.

"Say you love me," Ryo says, thrilling with the thought of it, with the words hanging on the edge of Momo's lips.

His irritation ticks up with every beat of silence. Momo isn't saying anything. He's not saying _it_. Momo won't say it, he thinks he's too good to say it, too good to admit how hopelessly he's has longed for this moment, has yearned to be inside Ryo like this.

Momo opens his mouth and closes it. His stare are dull and uneven, his thoughts listless.

Relief floods through Ryo's veins. Of course; Momo is drugged. He doesn't know what he's thinking. That's the only reason he won't say he loves him. That's why, only that. There's nothing else standing in Ryo's way- certainly not Re:vale or that man. Momo just needs a jolt of reality, needs to be shaken out of his stupor by something truly wonderful, something he's needed his whole life.

Loose with preparation and the wild, desperate need to have Momo's desires awakened as soon as possible, Ryo lines up with his cock. He could've prepared himself more, but the stretch of it — the pain of Momo taking the first few motions towards the rest of their lives — is too intoxicating too resist. Ryo doesn't want to forget that. He wants to remember this moment, feel its ache for days, weeks, months, years. He'll wreck himself on Momo's dick, he'll happily tear his body to pieces if it means having his longing heard by the object of his affection. Momo, this perfect recipient of his love, this adorable prey animal in his grasp, this slab of meat for Ryo to use for his own amusement.

Momo tenses and shocks as Ryo sinks onto him. Ryo sighs wistfully, moving his hips in small, goading motions, taking Momo further into himself. He enjoys the slow drag of friction between their bodies, leisurely fucking himself open. 

Momo argues pathetically, his voice soft and stumbling. He thrashes in protest at first, but the more the heat of Ryo's body covers him, the more the fight drains from his limbs. 

"This is what we've been working towards," Ryo says and victory soaks every syllable. "Everything we've done to each other has been building to this point." He rolls his hips and Momo's shout quickly melts into a moan. When Ryo opens his eyes, he sees Momo's face turned away, pressed into his own shoulder, breathing in staccato gasps.

"It feels good doesn't it?" Ryo leers and bows down until he's taken Momo to the hilt. Sweet, beautiful Momo doesn't reply— can't reply. He's going to hyperventilate with the way he's gulping for air. Ryo stares at the bobbing muscles of his throat, hand sliding down his abdomen to stroke at himself, thinking about the wet sleeve of Momo's throat around his cock. Maybe next time.

"No," Momo whispers. His eyes are selfishly squeezed shut. 

Ryo watches him carefully, those long eyelashes fluttering as Ryo lifts himself up on his knees, stopping just under the ridge, with Momo only shallowly inside.

For all his protests, Momo is still an entertainer, an actor, a _liar_ because his hips jut upwards, desperate for the warmth of Ryo around him.

It seems like Momo can feel it too, that helpless reaction, his whimpering in a deceptive way. Ryo supposes he can't hold that against Momo _too_ much. Denying him, trying to push Ryo aside — that’s just the effects of his rotten production studio, it's not how Momo really feels. The truth is in these base reactions, in the way Momo's head drops between his shoulders and shakes as Ryo skewers himself.

"Mm..." Momo’s lips are closed tight, thin and hopeless.

"It feels good," Ryo repeats, as if he was never denied. He'll force Momo to agree, with his harsh tones and harsher movements. Sparks light behind his eyes as Momo taps a deep part inside him, cock twitching as it's buried deep. 

Wanting winds and coils inside Ryo as he rides him in earnest. Occasionally Momo reaches for him, lifting a weak hand to try and push Ryo away. Ryo counters it easily, batting hands aside and swaying against Momo and his jellied limbs. Eventually Momo stops struggling, stops murmuring sadly and goes quiet and still. Ryo pauses, regarding this withdrawn behavior carefully. The drugs made Momo soft and pliant in his hands, but Ryo doesn't want them to take Momo away from him, from this moment. Ryo didn't go through all this trouble to get the dead fish treatment.

"You know," he says conversationally as he bounces on Momo's dick. "Maybe I'll show your friends the video anyhow." 

Momo’s eyes fly open; he looks up so quickly he nearly knocks his skull into Ryo's chin. Ryo laughs — it's adorable — and grunts as he feels it vibrating around Momo. 

"Oh, no?" Ryo asks innocuously. "You don't want them to see how dirty you are?" He ruts their hips together, unhurried at first but increasingly greedier the more he imagines Momo plunging deep inside him, rearranging his guts. "You don't want them to know much you like things like this." 

Momo twists under him, voice trembling and pleading. More no's, always with the no's... But Ryo can't hear them over his roar of his heartbeat, wild and ecstatic at the feeling of Momo inside him.

"I think you do," Ryo says, leering at the humiliated blush staining Momo’s cheeks. "I think you want everyone to see how good I make you feel." His dick throbs inside him. "You like that?" Ryo rises on his knees and brings himself slamming down, cutting off a strangled groan. "Those kids watching you." He's through being patient and gentle. He wants Momo wrecked underneath him, loose and shameless with the weight of his desires. "Seeing you fuck me."

"Please don't," Momo says softly — begs! — humiliation staining the edges of his voice.

"Yes," Ryo says and tosses his head back, grinding his hips down. Momo struggles to argue, to do anything but make feeble, incoherent sighs as Ryo gloriously fucks himself on his cock. "You want everyone to know this is all that you're good for. To be used by me— used up until you're empty and worthless." Momo moans, burying his face against Ryo's collar. Fingertips half-heartedly grapple at his hips— Pushing him away or pulling him close, Ryo can't tell the difference and frankly, he doesn't care. He has Momo exactly where he wants him; in his arms, deep inside him.

"Or maybe you just want me to show it to him."

A low, pitiful whine. Momo knows who he means and Ryo feels it pulse within him, the desire to have the other member Re:vale see Momo destroyed like this.

"Yuki." The name is dirt in his mouth. "He doesn't do this for you, does he?" Momo shivers against him, all anguished whimpers. "I bet he doesn't fuck you like this, like you need it." Ryo snakes his fingers into Momo's hair, feather soft in his grip as he yanks his neck back, forces that watery stare towards his face. Ryo can only imagine how he must look to Momo; flushed with victory and desire, thoroughly fucked. "He doesn't appreciate you like this, does he? He doesn’t—" Momo tries to pull away, tries to grapple free and the motion — sudden and violent and futile — and hits Ryo at a new, blissful angle. "Ah, Momo!" He wraps his arms tight around him, hard enough to squeeze the life out of him. He could throttle Momo like this, let the last thing he feel be Ryo splitting himself on his cock.

His nerves are frayed at the edges, from every shudder from Momo in his arms, every hiccupping sigh that hits him in the center of his chest. Ryo's drunk with it, with his desire, with the way his dick rubs against Momo's shirt. Ryo went through all of this effort to get to this moment, to hold Momo in his arms as he unwinds into this broken mess, living for Ryo only.

"You wanted this," he hisses and with each roll of his hips, Momo's fitful mumbling takes another turn, whining in desperate _ah_ 's like some dumb whore. Not just any whore; Ryo's whore. 

Something slips inside Ryo and he's tumbling with a rush of frantic need as he strokes himself in his hand. 

"You're mine now." Ryo closes his lips around the shell of Momo's ear and bites until he feels hips arching under him, thrusting inside. "You wanted me to have you, to break you." He jerks his hips cruelly and Momo yelps. "You're so much happier with me— being mine—" 

Ryo knows he's nothing like an idol. He doesn't have any rhythm, and he knows his hair must be slick with sweat and grease. He doesn't have their good looks and poise, but he was never attracted to that anyhow. He likes his handsome men like Momo is now; messy and raw, whining in protest as Ryo's mouth is against his ear, murmuring a litany of, "You're mine, my filthy— slut, my— mine, mine—" 

When he comes, it coats the front of Momo's shirt with his seed, white and thick. Ryo presses a hand there, smearing his come into the expensive clothes. Ruin this, remember me. Make it impossible for you to leave this place without everyone knowing what you did here.

He squeezes around Momo's cock and the other man begs and whines, sick with how good it must feel to fuck into Ryo's constricting hole. He clutches Momo in place, bouncing on him, through the haze of overstimulation and overwhelming nature of being stuffed to the brim by Momo.

Momo jerks and cries out, spilling his release hot inside of Ryo. Ryo holds him there, lifting his hand from the mess between them to stroke Momo's hair. It clumps and tangles with its stickiness. Marked and filthy.

 _He's mine,_ Ryo thinks, deliriously sated. He drags his fingers down to Momo's face, thumb pressing down on the man's bloodied lower lip. Momo lifts his head, expression empty and lifeless as Ryo traces his lips with his dirty fingers. From this angle, Momo's eyes look watery. Or maybe there are tears in Ryo's eyes, hot and victorious. Mine, mine, mine.

Ryo's thighs ache; he's not young anymore. It'd be nice if Momo would put in a little more effort next time, but Ryo doesn't hold it against him. Momo's still so shy. They'll have to build up to that, to Momo being an active participant in their intimacy. But Ryo has that sort of time. 

This is just the beginning of their relationship after all.

**Author's Note:**

> woof. ryo's kinda a creep huh? sorry momo
> 
> EDIT: for the record if you check the date you will see i wrote this before THAT PART in chapter 19 and i swear bandai my check better be in the gd mail


End file.
